Present Time
The bailey was busy with wagons, the villagers reclaiming the injured that were recovered enough to be taken to their own homes, emptying the main hall of all except the blacksmith. Two of the lads had passed in the night and the bailey fell respectfully still as their wrapped bodies were brought out and loaded on their family’s wagon.
The timing of their return could not have been worse, Yelena thought as the eyes of the family were drawn to Sylvin’s bright silver hair and their faces twisted, grief and anger mingling into expressions of loathing directed to her husband.
The mother of the boys wailed; the sound torn from her in a stream of pure pain. The villages gathered around her, creating a huddle in which she was central, and blocking Sylvin from her sight.
“Come,” Yelena took his hand and drew him forward, crossing the bailey and up the stairs into the keep.